


Two and Two

by Fudgyokra



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Post-Canon, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9550631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: He cheated on Mary with a woman who looked like Sherlock.





	

He had a number of reasons to be guilty, but this confrontation was the final straw.

_He cheated on his wife._

Their proximity was almost smothering him, yet he didn’t feel inclined to pull away. Instead, he pushed closer.

_His wife is dead._

God, he never thought skin could be so pale, but the expanse before him, on which his fingers were splayed, was nearly translucent in all its lovely, ghostly glory.

_He cheated on his wife, who is now dead._

No amount of exposed flesh, no matter how beautiful, could stop the algorithms that were forming in his head. This was all very new and very fast.

John let himself wallow in his guilt but still continued to fuel the fire. He tried to tell himself that he was allowed to touch, to admire, to love—even if it was someone other than Mary. Beloved, departed.

Still, memories of his infidelity struck him violently each time he inhaled even the steepest breath of his new lover’s scent.

“It was just a text,” the person beneath him spoke, bringing him back to reality.

“Now it isn’t,” he replied in a clipped tone. He hadn’t meant to sound cross, but those blue eyes—

“We can stop.” A brief pause of consideration, a dip in tone that indicated disappointment. “We _should_ stop.”

“It isn’t you, if you’re worried.” John sucked in a breath like something had stabbed him. “Well, it is you, but not—not like how you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking, John?”

_He had been unfaithful._

John leaned forward and reinitiated the kiss they’d previously abandoned. “That,” he mumbled into the barely-there space between their mouths. It was half of a very complicated truth.

_With Sherlock’s sister._

That damned thought wouldn’t stop nagging him. So beautiful she was; so familiar. John carded his fingers through thick, dark curls.

_He cheated on Mary with a woman who looked like Sherlock._

He could barely make his lips move, but he had to say something before the guilt ate him alive.

_Had he noticed the similarities?_

He ran a finger along a sharp jawline like it was second nature. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by those familiar blue eyes…

_Would he have cared?_

There was someone so lovely and close, but his thoughts remained on Mary. He felt so overwhelmingly despicable. Finally, a pale hand reached up and grabbed the wrist of his wandering hand. “You want to stop.”

“No,” John said, perhaps a little too desperately.

“You need to,” was the proffered correction, sounding very matter-of-fact. Then, quieter, “Is it about Mary?”

This was the first crack in the glass. John’s face gave him away long before he answered with a wobbly, “Yes, it’s about her.”

The second crack: “Is it about Eurus?”

“Her, too.”

The third and final: “Is it that I remind you of her?” Sherlock looked up at him just in time to watch him shatter.

“Just like her. Just like her,” he repeated to himself. “We can’t do this. I was unfaithful and she was the one who—” He cut himself short with an embarrassing sob and covered his face with his hands.

“I remind you of the woman you texted behind Mary’s back,” Sherlock said, a little frostily in his affirmation of this particular fear. “Nothing else. You did nothing more.”

“I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t.”

“You look so much like your sister,” John said again, his head hanging.

“You know I’m different.”

John took a slow breath. “You’re right.” Sherlock, a little surprised at the speed of John’s recovery, nodded mutely. “I’m sorry, Sherlock,” John said at length, leaning over and resting his forehead on the other man’s.

“Don’t be. Moving on is a slow-healing wound. You can’t force it.”

“You shouldn’t have to bear with my breakdown.” John idly messed with Sherlock’s fingers.

“You’ve bore through many of mine,” Sherlock answered. John knew this to be true and couldn’t think of anything pertinent to add, so he remained silent. In lieu of words, he simply moved off of Sherlock and laid in the bed next to him, engaging himself in the beginning stages of deep thought. Before he got too far, however, Sherlock sat up and pulled his crumpled shirt back over his shoulders. “John,” he said, tentatively, “I have made far worse mistakes in my life.”

John cracked a smile but still said nothing.

“This,” Sherlock continued, “is not one of them.”

Finally, John met his gaze. Though his smile fell, he did at least feel better by a small fraction. “Oh, this isn’t,” he said, as if it should have been obvious. “This never was.”

“Then the rest is history,” Sherlock dared to say, lowering his eyes down to where John’s tie was pulled down in the center of his chest. “I don’t mean to forget…her. I just mean that we all make mistakes, and we all must learn to move past them. If you can forgive someone like me, then…”

“Let me guess: then you can forgive me?”

“Then you can forgive yourself.” Sherlock leaned forward with an expression that was almost fearful, like this wasn’t something he was allowed to do. Like it wasn’t something they’d done plenty of times before.

John met him halfway and felt his shoulders relax when their lips touched. It wasn’t much of a gesture, but he would allow himself at least one small pleasure.

Eventually, perhaps, he would take Sherlock’s words to heart.


End file.
